


give me a hand o'thine

by Glisseo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 19:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13219443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glisseo/pseuds/Glisseo
Summary: What could be more inconvenient than being heavily pregnant on New Year's Eve with an absentee husband?





	give me a hand o'thine

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend listening to Auld Lang Syne for this, towards the end anyway, as I did when I was writing it and I may have cried a little.

In life there were many inconveniences, and in Ginny Potter’s opinion being heavily pregnant at Christmas was one of the greatest she had encountered. (No, Mum, she didn’t think she was being a bit overdramatic, _thank you_.) For one thing, there was Christmas shopping to do, which involved trying to battle her way through tidal waves of frantic and _inconsiderate_ shoppers with a stomach the size of a small country. The sharp elbows and sheer force of will she’d honed from childhood came in somewhat handy, but she’d still emerged from Diagon Alley after a marathon spending spree feeling like she’d been personally manhandled by every witch and wizard in the damn place, ears ringing with phoenixes in pear trees and trolls a-leaping from every shopkeeper conspiring to play _The Twelve Days of Christmas_ on a bloody _loop_.   
  
And then there were the Christmas parties, all five hundred of them, or that was what it felt like when you’d crammed yourself into dress robes that hadn’t been comfortable in pre-pregnancy days (remember those? No, she didn’t either) and had to stand around making small talk with Ministry officials whose sole purpose in life was to be the most boring wizard in Britain. Ginny’s only solace during those dark hours was Harry, grinning broadly every time she shot him a wide-eyed _Merlin’s balls, this is a NIGHTMARE_ look and reassuring her with a squeeze of his hand that they’d escape soon, and she could get out of these robes and he’d rub her feet and shoulders and all would be well again.   
  
Which was why it was even more of an inconvenience (that was an understatement, really) that two days after Christmas, which had really been lovely despite the aches and tiredness and constantly-needing-a-wee, Harry was sent away on Auror business and Ginny was left alone.   
  
Not that she was, actually, alone. The hordes had descended upon learning of her tragic abandonment, so much so that she’d considered physically barring the door with a rolling pin in one hand and her wand in the other. Weasleys upon Weasleys had flocked to the house bearing food, reassurances and jokes of increasing vulgarity (from George, and she’d actually enjoyed those), all harbouring under the misapprehension that she should not and could not be left by herself at nearly nine months pregnant.   
  
They were, of course, quite wrong. Ginny was more than capable of taking care of herself. She was used to Harry’s absences by now, though they never got any easier, and being pregnant didn’t change that. She could still move around and cook and clean and everything her mum and co. seemed to think she needed doing for her.   
  
What being pregnant _had_ changed (apart from her inability to see her feet) was her emotional state … that was perhaps misleading, as it suggested she only had one. Pregnant Ginny had many emotional states. Non-pregnant Ginny had rarely cried, but Pregnant Ginny cried all the god damn time. Dropped a hair pin? Floods. Lost the cat (behind her)? Wailing into a cushion. She had disturbing dreams about drowning in her own tears.   
  
Harry had been very good at dealing with her Emotions, in their mass, but now Harry was gone, and that only added another Emotion to the pile: devastation. And misery. And loneliness. And worry. There were so many of them she was thinking they might have to put an extension on the cottage.   
  
The fact of the matter was she missed Harry so much it hurt, and her pregnant state had just heightened all the fears and worries she normally had at the back of her mind when he was away. Those aside, she just missed his presence. He made her laugh when she was feeling tearful, made her blush when she was feeling gargantuan and undesirable, made her feel safe and content just by putting his arm around her.   
  
And then there was New Year’s Eve. When Harry had first told her of this mission, she’d been thankful that they’d have Christmas together and had not until later realised that he would be away for the end of December. New Year’s Eve was special to Harry and Ginny. They had spent it together every year since 1998. Though they faithfully attended the party at the Burrow, just before midnight each year they would slip away to the nearby hillside and watch the fireworks, Muggle and magical, blooming like enormous sparkling flowers in the dark sky.   
  
It was on one such occasion that Harry had told her he loved her, though she’d known – well, guessed – for some time. They’d kissed at midnight and that year had got off to an exceptionally wonderful start.   
  
Every year since then had been quite wonderful, really. She had joined the Harpies, won the League three times, played for England and married Harry Potter. Young Ginny wouldn’t have believed her ears. And it was stupid to think, perhaps – Hermione would certainly have scoffed – but Ginny couldn’t help thinking that a year which started without Harry by her side wouldn’t be quite as wonderful.   
  
It was with a black cloud of misery hovering over her that she got ready for the party at the Burrow on New Year’s Eve, having grumpily dispatched all lingering family members with the insistence that she would be perfectly fine dressing herself. The house would be packed with her brothers and their partners, children and friends: Lee Jordan would be there, and Luna could very well make an appearance – but Ginny couldn’t bring herself to feel any cheer at the prospect. There was only one person she wanted there. She couldn’t bear to see all the couples embrace at midnight while she sat alone in the corner, a big pregnant lump with an absentee husband.   
  
She pasted on her biggest, fakest smile (usually reserved for aforementioned Ministry officials, if she cared to bother) for her arrival at the Burrow.   
  
“Ginny!” said her mum, hugging her with some difficulty. The party was already in full swing, by the look of it: as Ginny pulled away from her mother, she saw Charlie topping up his wine glass, wearing a pink bobble hat that looked like it might belong to one of his nieces.   
  
“Come and sit down, dear, and have a drink,” Molly fussed, ushering her into the living room. Various people hailed her cheerily. Most of her family looked, from their flushed red faces (a classic Weasley tell-tale), rather merry. Of her brothers only Bill, chatting to their father with Victoire on his knee, looked as cool and composed as ever. Even Hermione was pink and giggling at something Lee Jordan had just said.   
  
“A drink? She can’t have a drink!” said George, overhearing. Ginny lowered herself gingerly into a chair, where she guessed she would remain until someone extricated her, and glared at him.   
  
“I can have a _non-alcoholic_ drink, idiot.”  
  
“One glass of wine will not ‘urt,” said Fleur, who had maintained to all and sundry throughout her pregnancies that disallowing her wine impinged upon her human rights.   
  
“I don’t think –” Molly began, frowning, but Ginny, not caring for an argument, interrupted.   
  
“I don’t really feel like wine, anyway.” It would likely just make her more morose. A pregnant witch bursting into tears could very well dampen the party spirit. “But I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.”  
  
George looked disbelieving. “You can’t drink tea at a party!”  
  
“Keep telling me what I can’t do, and you won’t be able to drink _anything_ ,” Ginny snapped. Fleur, giving her a remarkably sympathetic look, moved to sit closer.   
  
“Poor ‘Arry, being away for ze party,” she said. “’E must be unhappy to not be ‘ere with ze family.”  
  
Ginny felt quite unhappy to be ‘ere with ze family, but felt she would sound ungrateful saying it. Besides, Fleur was right, she realised. (Good grief, there was another unwelcome Emotion: Agreeing With Fleur.) Harry would be very unhappy, wherever he was – he was rarely able to say. He would be missing her as much as she was missing him, probably. Family was incredibly important to him, and starting the year away from his would surely be causing him great misery.   
  
Ron passed by Ginny’s chair, and she poked him gently in the back.   
  
“Why aren’t you away as well?” she demanded of him.   
  
“What, with Harry?” God, there was another sympathetic look. Ron and Ginny had become much closer since leaving school: her relationship with Harry meant they often spent time together as a four, with Hermione, and she had seen her big brother turn into a kind and unselfish young man who supported his family entirely. (For his part, though he would mumble and redden if forced to admit it, Ron was exceptionally fond of his little sister and it rather pained him to see her miserable.)

“He was the secondary on the case,” Ron said. “I didn’t have anything to do with it. He’ll be OK, though.”  
  
“It’s not dangerous?”  
  
“Nah, shouldn’t think so.” He stuck a bowl in front of her nose. “Crisp?”   
  
“Thanks,” she said, taking one. And another. Pregnancy hunger was awful: she’d eaten a whole tray of mince pies in one sitting the other day. “D’you know how long it’ll take?”  
  
Ron rubbed his nose with his free hand. “Er … no. Sorry. Really, Gin, I’d give you a definite answer if I could, but …”  
  
“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry.” She took another crisp, Where was that cup of tea? All the salt was making her thirsty. But then she’d have to wee again. Well, she’d gone a good twenty minutes without one, she was probably due anyway.   
  
“You could come and stay with us, y’know,” said Ron, interrupting her wee musings. “I don’t like thinking of you on your own. I mean, what if something happens with the baby?”  
  
“Then you and Hermione would be fairly useless, I think,” Ginny said, but without rancour. She aimed a gentle kick at his ankle, which was brother-sister language for _I appreciate your kind gesture_. He rubbed his nose again _(don’t mention it)._ It was rather heart-warming.   
  
Someone finally brought her a cup of tea, and she tried to get comfortable in her chair, back aching, as she watched the party around her. People tried to engage her in conversation – Percy, who wanted to talk about his and Audrey’s recent trip to the archives of the British Wizarding History Museum, wasn’t trying very hard – but her thoughts were far away, with her husband in some dark trench somewhere … no, that wasn’t right, he wasn’t a soldier in a Muggle war. More likely he was in a large and comfortable tent, but that didn’t give off quite the same feeling of longing and misery Ginny was sure they were both feeling.

  
As she leant over to put her empty cup on the side table, her abdomen suddenly tightened, sending a wave of pain through her. She exhaled sharply and waited, tense, but it was gone as soon as it had come.   
  
Half an hour later her back had begun to ache with increased vigour, as had her legs. She wondered about going in search of a painkilling potion, but even the thought of getting up made her feel tired.   
  
“OK, Ginny?” her dad called over cheerfully, handing Hermione another glass of wine.   
  
“Ye- aah!”  
  
The grasping, vice-like pain had returned; she wanted to claw at her abdomen to make it stop. Breathing heavily as it abated, she opened her eyes to see a number of faces peering at her with expressions of great concern.   
  
“What’s the matter?”  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“Is it the baby?”  
  
And then, louder than all the other voices:  
  
“Pfffft.” Fleur rolled her eyes with disparagement of a level the English could never muster. “It is obvious. She is in labour. We shall not waste time asking silly questions.”  
  
“Labour!” Ginny cried. Her shock was offset by another wave of pain – a contraction? No! Surely not – and she gritted her teeth until it had passed, already feeling sweat beading her brow. “I can’t be in labour!”  
  
“Isn’t it too early?” said Hermione, worriedly.   
  
“It will be fine,” said Fleur, shooting Hermione a look that suggested she had asked what had already been deemed a silly question. “No one is panicking. Ginny, do you hear me? It is fine.”  
  
More people came barrelling into the room. Word spread faster amongst Weasleys than in the _Witch Weekly_ offices. Molly, white in the face, hurried to Ginny’s side.   
  
“Is it labour, dear?” she asked, squeezing Ginny’s hand when she nodded, sucking in a breath as another contraction hit. “Now, there’s no need to worry. We’re going to get you to the hospital –”  
  
“No!” Ginny managed between clenched teeth. “No! I can’t!”  
  
Puzzled looks were exchanged. “What do you mean, you can’t?” Bill asked gently.   
  
“Harry’s not here!” The words were torn from her in a rush of panic and downright fear because _no_ , Harry wasn’t there, she couldn’t have the baby! Not now, not ever, not without him -

Molly stroked the hair from Ginny’s sweaty forehead. “Sweetheart, I know you want Harry here but you can do this without him –”  
  
“I know! I know I can do it without him but I won’t!” A sob wrenched its way from her chest. “He’s not missing it! He can’t miss it!”  
  
How could Harry, who wanted his own family more than anything in the world, possibly miss the birth of his child? He would be devastated – destroyed – there was no way Ginny was letting that happen.   
  
She felt a deeply uncomfortable sensation of something leaking from her, and was dimly aware of Percy rushing from the room.   
  
“He always was squeamish,” said George, who was determinedly averting his own eyes. “Look, Ginny, you’ve got to get to the hospital, OK? You’ve got to think about the baby.”  
  
“But Harry –”  
  
The pain was taking its toll: she felt thoroughly exhausted already. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, she knew that George was right. She had to think about the baby. Harry, above all, would want them both to be safe.   
  
She closed her eyes again, and tried not to picture Harry’s face when he found out he had missed it.   
  
“Fine. I’ll go.”

* * *

  
The corridors of the Ministry were largely deserted at this time of night, and on New Year’s Eve. No one really knew if the Department of Mysteries took holidays, and some senior officials were still there, overseeing business that couldn’t wait.   
  
Percy was fairly senior, as he liked to tell anyone who would listen: being the Deputy Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation was not a job to be taken lightly, though he felt that many people did just that. Still, even he hadn’t needed to work on New Year’s Eve, and he hadn’t minded, really, not when he was able to spend the holiday with his family.   
  
Family was important.   
  
His footsteps echoed in the empty corridor of Level Two, through to the Auror Office. There was no one at the administrator’s desk: in fact, all the cubicles were empty. Despair swept over him – but wait – was that a light under the Head Auror’s door?  
  
He marched towards the office, knocked sharply and entered without being told to do so. Gawain Robards was at his desk. He looked up from a large map in front of him and raised his eyebrows.   
  
“What?” he demanded. The holiday spirit had apparently not got to him.   
  
“I need Harry Potter,” said Percy boldly. He _felt_ very bold. His heart was pounding and he was breathing so hard his glasses kept slipping down his nose. He pushed them up again and held Robards’ gaze.   
  
“Why?”   
  
“His wife is in labour.”  
  
Robards made a _hmm?_ sort of noise. “Well, I don’t know what to say. He’s on Auror business. I can’t just call him back, it could compromise the entire operation.”  
  
“I think you can,” said Percy. “Need I remind you that I am Deputy Head of International Magical Co-operation?”  
  
“Are you?” Robards looked unimpressed. “That’s nice for you. Unfortunately, this isn’t an international matter. And I don’t know if I’d even be able to send a message to him.”  
  
“Why, where is he?”   
  
“Basildon.”  
  
Percy ground his teeth. “Listen here,” he snapped. “You will get him back, or I will make sure he knows that _you_ were personally responsible for making him miss the birth of his first child.”  
  
“And I’ll tell him what he already knows: that Auror business comes before everything else.” Robards pulled the map towards him again. “You’re wasting my time. The answer’s no.”  
  
Percy’s temper flared: he almost reached for his wand, but something made him stop. He turned on his heel and stormed from the office, not stopping until he reached the lifts, hitting the button for Level One with more force than was strictly necessary.   
  
The Minister’s secretary wasn’t there either, but Kingsley himself was, sighing over a long memo. He greeted Percy with a broad smile.  
  
“Haven’t you got somewhere else to be tonight?”  
  
“Never mind that,” said Percy swiftly. “My sister is in labour and Harry’s on an Auror mission. Robards says he can’t get him back, but I know he can.”  
  
“Is that so?” said Kingsley, his face registering no surprise. His slow, deep voice was instantly reassuring to Percy, who felt jittery with anticipation. “Well, let me see what I can do.”  


* * *

  
Staff at St. Margaret’s Hospital for Magical Maternity tried hard to make it a calming and serene place, but it was hard to appreciate that when, you know, you were _having a baby_.  
  
“Please please please make it stop I don’t want to do this please I can’t!” Ginny sobbed into her mother’s arms, her body wracked with agony despite the potions they’d given her. Her brain was cloudy, but one thing was clear: _Harry wasn’t there_. It had been hours, and the baby was coming, and he _wasn’t_.   
  
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” Molly soothed, stroking her hair. “You’re nearly there, it’s nearly over –”  
  
“Nearly?”  
  
Ginny blinked. Oh, brilliant. The pain of labour had sent her doolally, apparently, because she was hallucinating now. It _looked_ like Harry had just burst into the room, looking around wildly, but there was no way that was true, so -  
  
“Ginny!” said not-Harry, who was suddenly at her side, holding her hands, and it felt so _real_ – oh, this was cruel -   
  
Green eyes met hers, worried.   
  
“Are you real?” she whispered. “Are you really here?”  
  
“I’m here,” said Harry. Even hallucination Harry wouldn’t lie, not to her. Ginny sobbed with relief as he squeezed her hands in his.   
  
“I thought I’d be too late,” he murmured against her knuckles. “I thought I’d miss it – oh, Ginny –”  
  
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she breathed, and that was the last thing she managed before it all overcame her, but it didn’t matter anymore, because Harry was there.   


* * *

  
In the waiting room, the assembled Weasleys had watched Harry tear straight towards Ginny’s room with varying exclamations of disbelief. Only one, whose temporary absence had gone unnoticed, said nothing: just smiled to himself, and uncrossed his fingers.   
  
George and Ron exchanged looks.   
  
“It was you, wasn’t it?” George demanded.   
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Percy.   
  
“You got Harry back. But how? There’s no way Robards would have –”  
  
“There are people who hold more power than Robards does,” Percy said, deliberately not looking at his brothers.   
  
There was a silence. Then George said, “You went over a superior’s head for a personal favour? Blimey, Perce. Didn’t think you had it in you. But _why?_ ”   
  
Percy hesitated.   
  
“I had some making up to do.”

* * *

The clock struck midnight. 

Fireworks exploded across the sky as, within the small hospital room, a cry rent the air. Outside in the waiting room, the Weasleys hugged each other and celebrated and, a few minutes late, Harry and Ginny shared a kiss above their newborn son.   
  
“Happy New Year,” Ginny whispered.   
  
“Every year is happy with you,” said Harry. He looked at his son as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing. “And you’ve made me happier than I – than I ever –”  
  
“I know,” Ginny murmured, kissing his hand, still tightly interwoven with hers. “I know.”  
  
  
  


  


**Author's Note:**

> A few things I realised when I was writing this:   
> 1) Canonically Ron is not an Auror in 2003, but I chose to overlook (read: forgot) that   
> 2) Percy is later Head of Magical Transportation, but he switched departments for this, because well why the heck not.


End file.
